


A Curse for Two

by RonnieWriting



Category: Frozen (Disney Movies)
Genre: Curses, F/M, and im totally obsessed with it, based on a little book I read, but I'm getting it out early bc I feel like it, eventual love and whatever, its called Crown of Horn, little towns with big secrets, obscure but I love it, sort of a halloween fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:07:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26578822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RonnieWriting/pseuds/RonnieWriting
Summary: Typically, the legacy left behind by a grandmother comes in a box with dust and among a clutter of dishware and ornaments... Anna's left her with the inheritance to a mystery and a prophecy as old as time.-Based on the book and story "Crown of Horn" written by Louise Cooper
Relationships: Anna/Kristoff (Disney)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26





	1. Chapter 1

The dwelling guilt in Anna’s chest gnawed its way down into her stomach. None of the countryside scenery sparked any amount of nostalgia in her. There was familiarity in the trees along the winding road, in the composition of hills and valleys, but none of it  _ meant _ anything. Not to her, and not in the ways it should have.

Barton Tavey was a cluster of trees and cottages compared to the rest of the world she knew; the people there seemed always old and grey, the streets nearly empty and not even half of a good ghost story to draw in tourists. But it was home to her late grandmother. Truth be, she was estranged and reclusive, and yet somehow still, it was hard to imagine such close family preferring to be so far away.

_ Or was it really so hard? _

Fresh memories of Anna’s last encounter with her older sister, Elsa, infected her drowsy melancholy quickly into a very real nausea. 

_ “Then leave” _

_ “I can’t leave him, he loves me!” _

_ “And yet, he left” _

Elsa told her to leave- but beat her to it. A week after Elsa shut the door on her, she shut her out completely. Without word or warning. An empty room was all that was left and a discarded envelope in the bin that had delivered a single, one-way airline ticket.

The urge to throw up consumed her for the rest of the three hour drive. 

Anna didn’t even know if Elsa knew of their grandmother’s passing. Did she even want to know? Would either answer make Anna feel any different?

The last time Anna had seen her grandmother was when she was six years old. Her mother convinced her that she had been there many times before that but all those times were lost. In retrospect, Anna’s mother never got along with their grandmother. There were echoes of arguments she never understood that now, sadly, could never be solved. For all the signs, it just seemed that the women in Anna’s family were fated to quarrel with each other.

There were little, unanchored things she remembered about her late grandmother’s house: an old sheepskin rug in the corner, fake flowers that no amount of dusting could save, the way her musky-sweet perfume invaded her nose every time that front door opened to her. 

The thought of being confronted with all these things, and what would surely be keys to other hidden memories, scared Anna. 

_ It’s just a house, _ she told herself.  _ Just a house in a little town.  _

  
  


She parked her little car on the church road, a few blocks away for her own sake. The little suitcases in the boot were heavy despite their few contents.  _ I don’t need much, _ she had thought as she plucked a few staple pieces from her wardrobe,  _ I’m not staying any longer than I need to. _

Right then, nothing would have been sweeter than curling up in the antique armchair in her apartment back in London; where she would watch the street from the window and try her hardest to think of nothing. Anna actually considered jumping straight back in her car and peeling away from this depressing little town and forgetting the whole obligation that led her here. The indulgent, cowardly scenario played so naturally and perfectly in her head, it was a wonder she ultimately didn’t.

With any hope, she would be back in her  _ real _ home in a week or two. She was surely strong enough to wait out such a short period.

With the steps she took down the little road to the church, Anna added a few tasks to her mental checklist:

_ Clean out the house. Appraise it. Sell it. Leave. _

But before any of that- there was the funeral. That in itself would take tremendous effort on Anna’s account. 

Little towns like this were so closely knit that she was sure to not escape interrogation. The granddaughter of the town’s reclusive old woman, a city girl- nothing would prepare her for the promise of guilt and scrutiny.

  
  


The village church was small, and plain- were it not for the strange, horned statues along the pathway or the stag crown atop the roof peak. It was no point stopping to stare at them or wonder at the purpose of it all- she wouldn’t be here long- and there was still an unsteady flow of people into the church, so she joined the trickle of a crowd, found a pew up the front of the aslie and sat down quietly.

The service was slow. The pew rows were silent as the Reverend paid old Mrs Thulldra his respect. He recounted the relationships she had in the little town, her well known qualities, and led the mass of them to offer their own silent prayers to her. 

Anna felt all the more guilty when she found that she couldn’t cry. The sadness in her was powerful and honest but over the past month she had more than a few reasons to collapse into herself. Thankfully, a choke did escape her more than once and the hair on the sides of her face hid her from the view of everyone when it was bowed- so for the sake of appearances, no one could claim she was unfeeling.

Then, the procession followed the pall-bearers, led by the Reverend and a far-away Anna. The single bell in the church tower began its low, poignant toll as it counted the steps to the little crowd’s march through the church yard. And with a dreary sort of finality, the grave was filled in and they all watched as old Mrs Thulldra found her final resting place.

  
  


“Miss Thulldra?” All of Anna’s hopes to remain under the radar were shattered with the one line. It was the vicar, he had found her hiding out in a corner. 

They had all- the dozen and a half or so people- just finished the feeding slowly back through the church doors, and were now shuffling around the hall with cups of tea clinking in hand. So far, none of them had come to question her- they had looked, of course- but now it seemed they were all waiting for the Reverend to strike first.

Anna looked up from her empty cup, “No, Delle. Anna Delle.”

He tried to smile at her but it came out more somber than comforting, “Of course, miss Delle.” The smile turned into a professional grimace, “I’m sorry that we are meeting under such unfortunate circumstances. Your grandmother was a lovely lady, her passing has been a great loss to all of us here.” Those were his usual words, practiced, but he hoped they sounded sincere. A time ago, he had passed the stage of being emotionally affected by funerals, losing a few embarrassing tears in the middle of a service was no longer a problem, but that was not to say that he received each loss with total, sincere grief. 

It was nothing less than a relief that his dismal duty was over and he could offer a more personal approach.

Anna nodded again, eyes falling slightly with guilt, “Yes- thankyou.” Then she hesitated for a second. Relenting, “I haven’t seen her since I was six, I really feel horrible about it all- I should have come sooner.”

His sympathies ran deeper for her, “Life gets in the way, true to its nature.”

She opened up further, dangerously so, “I feel as if I have no right to be here, like an intruder.”

Hoping he didn’t instantly cross the barrier of being too familiar, he placed a hand on her shoulder, “Barton Tavey certainly maintains the unwelcoming reputation it has always had. But what matters is that you’re here for her now. Now, “ He consciously changed his tone to the more practical and positive, “Have you had the chance to meet with Yelena Snow?” Anna shook her head, no. “Mrs Snow was your grandmother’s neighbour, she’s holding a small tea at her home for close friends. I’m sure you’ll be more than welcome there.”

Yelena Snow, no doubt the white-haired, bright-eyed woman across the room tittering politely among the others, only casting a quizzical look at Anna every now and then. 

“Are you going to be there?” She asked.

“Of course, so don’t hesitate on asking any sort of moral support from me, alright, miss Delle.” He watched her brighten up slightly, it brought a similar smile to his own face.

“Thankyou, Reverend-”

“Valley. But everyone calls me Clifford or Vicar.”

Anna nodded, “Then you must call me Anna.”

The Reverend was happy that he seemed to be making progress, “Well then, Anna, I’ll take you there myself, and once the more serious things are wrapped up, I insist on inviting you over for dinner with my wife and me at the vicarage.”

She smiled in agreement and gathered her strengths once again as she left with the Vicar towards Yelena’s house.


	2. Chapter 2

Yelena made Anna welcome, but underneath that smiling surface was pure, uncharitable curiosity. The rest of the afternoon drawled as she was made to run the gauntlet of introducing herself to the woman that hovered around her. The Vicar left her side to be sociable with his communal friends. Anna told them about her home in London: a small apartment on the fifthteenth floor of a complex- she didn’t tell them how her sister used to live there too- and the job she had there as a furniture buyer for a department store. There were a few subtle digs about her grandmother’s loneliness among the polite questions but Anna let them pass. 

After the second round of tea had been drunk with the little cakes and biscuits that Yelena had set out, the solicitor arrived. Anna knew that her grandmother’s will and her bequests were to be read and carried out soon after the funeral- she preferred a quick process as much- but it was still so jarring to have it performed in Yelena’s own living room. Thoughts of anticipation were stirring around her as they dragged a few chairs together to form a little cemi-circle around the solicitor and his all-telling manilla folder.

The wishes of Mrs Thulldra were as follows:

To Yelena, her best friend and neighbour, she left five hundred pounds, a fifty piece bone china tea set and an opal and pearl brooch that Yelena had always admired. To the church, she left three hundred pounds.

And according to the solicitor, that was the last of the monetary assets she had. Anna felt the weight of a dozen eyes on her. They were expecting to see signs of detestment or annoyance at the will and the way Mrs Thulldra’s assets were being divided, and Anna couldn’t deny a far away sense of enjoyment as they were disappointed. 

The rest of Mrs Thulldra’s possessions, the house and all the furnishings it contained were left to her granddaughter Anna Delle with the hope that she’d use them well.

Anna wondered blankly at why her grandmother wouldn’t leave her house and belongings to Elsa. She was the older sister, the more ambitious one, the more obvious choice of the two. It was strange and sweet and sad all at once. Maybe Anna had been less than generous when thinking of how perceptive the woman was. Their family’s women were prone to feuding so it sounded hopeful that maybe by leaving Anna her house, her grandmother would restore a little of the imbalance. Would Elsa have told her grandmother that she was leaving Anna and London for somewhere else? Would that have made the old woman change the recipient of her estate?

How could Anna use her grandmother’s house ‘well’? There were so few things she remembered about it, and the prospect of  _ living _ there numbed her something chronic.

Just as she pushed aside these dangerously heavy thoughts, the Vicar approached her after the semi-circle had dissipated. He nursed a fresh cup of tea, “How are you feeling?”

She could only offer him an apologetic smile, “Better than I thought,”  _ a crisp white lie _ , “just a little tired. Thank you.”

“I’m about ready to leave myself, if you’d like to join me. My wife would insist on making you quite comfortable.”

An embarrassed grimace pulled at her face, “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to offend you but I really think I’d rather be alone tonight. The day’s been quite trying.”

He frowned, but nodded, “Of course, if you’re sure you’re going to be alright? Do you have a place to stay?”

“I hadn’t fixed anything,” Anna said, “but I thought I could stay in the house- if I’m allowed.”

“I can ask Yelena for the keys. But, forgive me, Anna, do you think that…” He trailed off.

But Anna was certain of what he was implying. “Yes, I’m sure. I think it would be best for me to be there, where I can be comfortable and closer to gran’.”

The list of practical complications ran through his head- the house would be without heating or food or even fresh bed linens- but he let them go unspoken. The young woman was determined and he was in no position to argue her well-being; so he left her to ask Yelena about the keys.

As for what Yelena thought of her late friend’s granddaughter, she found herself teetering more to a sincere understanding than what she had felt the first time she saw the girl. Once she knew that the girl held no apparent malice to the way that her grandmother had divided the remnants of her legacy, Yelena found that she could afford to pity her. 

In truth, the house was little more than a liability. The furniture was all old and battered. Yelena had cared for the woman over the past few months and of what she had seen of the house, she was certain that it would be in her neighbour’s best interest to throw it all away and sell the place.

Handing the keys over to the vicar, Yelena told him to let the girl know that she was always available for any kind of help she could need. No matter how long the girl was planning to stay, Yelena hoped to prove soon enough as good a neighbor to her as she had been to her grandmother.

  
  


And so with the set of keys in hand, Anna left Yelena’s house to walk back to where she parked her Mini. It was considerable to just head straight next door to the house and go back for her car in the morning but she would be without her suitcases and she didn’t need any more reasons to be so out-of-sorts.

As she walked, Anna watched all the signs of the coming autumn around her. Even in the dusky light, the leaves on the trees were an undeniable burnt orange and there was that whisper in the air that promised long rains. Any other year, Anna loved autumn. It was the most tepid of any season and its beauty with colours and atmosphere was unmatched against any other. But this one came with a harrowing sting- it was to be a season of might-have-beens.

The church loomed in the distance behind her car in a dark shape and she found herself fumbling with the keys at the realisation that ugly tears were beginning to sting at the corners of her eyes. Anna willed herself- _ prayed _ that she would not cry, not until she was properly alone. 

There was a heavy wash of shame over her when she finally got the door open and flopped down into the driver's seat. These were selfish tears- for a selfish loss. It wasn’t for the bereavement she found herself in- that was final and certain, sad and depressing but conclusive- it was for the loss that might have been avoidable.

Anna gathered a moment after she let those hot tears fall, wiping them away with the back of her sleeve. These were haunting thoughts and the tears were selfish and pointless. 

Her car at least provided her with a momentary sense of security. She revelled in that sense for a second longer before starting the engine, flipping on the lights and pulling away from the curb.

The shape of the house stood dark and confronting before her, washed a ghostly grey in the early light of the night. Calling it a  _ cottage _ seemed like a term too unfit to truly describe it. It was bigger than she half-remembered, set back on the large lot to allow for a big front yard, and all stone. The house was two stories with a high-pitched roof from which a brick chimney rose, and there were little windows set in the stones. The block was large enough that Yelena’s house was a good distance away with a sturdy, tall stone wall standing in between.

Anna circled her car to the back where she pulled out the two little suitcases and started through the front gate towards the house. 

The garden was a tangled, dying mess but here and there she could see the original plans where rows of coloured flowers might’ve been. She thought to herself on how she could get rid of it all. Options included the more timely but cheap one of doing it herself- but the impending rainy weather proved that method to be one that would reach further into the immediate future than she liked- or hiring a landscaper. 

These were thoughts that could truthfully wait another day or  _ at least  _ until the morning, so she forced them from her mind, climbed the stone steps and placed her suitcases by her feet as she fished for the keys in her pocket.

The heavy oak door opened and she was greeted with a vast emptiness- nothing like the warmth that she vaguely remembered there being in her childhood.

Anna groped the nearest wall blindly and with a  _ click _ the emptiness was flooded with warm light. With a sigh of relief, she pulled the suitcases inside and shut the door behind her. There were two rooms on either side of the main hallway that she stood in, both crowded with beat-up furniture and boxes covered in sheets of dust and cobwebs. In front of her, along the main hall was a slender staircase that winded up to the second story where the bedrooms must be. But her nerves were alive with the chill in the air and so she left her suitcases at the foot of the stairs and moved further down the hallway. 

At the end she came to another few rooms, a kitchen in the corner of one that would serve as a dining room and the other was a quaint sitting room with a fireplace on the far wall and a glass door that led to a small sunroom overlooking a vast backyard. Anna stepped into the sitting room and found, to immediate comfort, a small electric heater tucked next to the hearth. For the time being she turned it on, and while it alleviated some of the coldness in her fingers, it did nothing to lift the stark loneliness that hung thick and heavy in the air.

Just as she made to stand up Anna was struck with a sudden and violent shiver. The hairs on the back of her neck pricked like a cold breath had been blown there and unconsciously pulled her black coat tighter around herself. 

She looked around herself again and then in a hasty flurry with no reason, she drew the flowered orange curtains closed and switched on all the lamps she could find between the two rooms.

With reluctance, Anna left the warming comforts of the back of the house and collected what corrage she had to brave the second floor. There was no light over the stairs- the bulb had blown- so she had to climb them carefully in the dark with a suitcase in each hand. 

The landing was as thin as the stairwell and along the one wall was four doors. Anna checked the corners of the landing for another lightswitch when she let out a cry in shock as a shape lept at her from the shadows. The suitcases fell from her hands with a thump and she tripped over her feet, rearing back into the landing wall.

A large and heavy full-length mirror had been mounted against the landing wall adjacent to the end of the stairs- it would be impossible to see from the ground floor even with light- and when she turned, her reflection had caught the light from below.

Steadily, once Anna’s heart rate had resumed to a regular nervousness, she let out a breath. Taking down that mirror now outweighed any other task on her mind. Before she even picked up her suitcases again, the last of her adrenaline propelled her to open all the doors along the floor and flip on the lights inside, bathing the whole second floor in a cosy light.

The last of the doors was to a room that was very obviously her grandmother’s. The bed was made immaculately, a tray with bottles and medicine boxes was on the nightstand and a little tv was pulled up to the foot of the bed on a wheeled table. Anna turned off the light and shut the door again.

The next room was a full bathroom, and the other looked to be a bedroom taken over by storage boxes and cluttered with an array of bits-and-pieces. The door closest to the landing and the back of the house was a guest room. Inside was the kind of furniture you’d expect to find in a hotel room- all matching darkwood and plain. But it would do just fine for the night.

The face stared up at her as soon as she opened the larger suitcase on the bed. Among the knit jumpers and skirts she packed haste was the photograph of a handsome, ginger-haired man in a simple black frame. 

This, this man, was the largest stone she carried in her heart. Hans. And kneeling by the edge of the bed with the picture in her hands, she began to cry without restraint.

They were engaged, and had been for a while before he ended it without reason or warning. There was room for hope and that only made it worse. He never told her why he left, never telling her if it was someone else or something so small that she could- _ would _ \- change in a heartbeat had she known.

It eventually got to the point where he wouldn’t even pick up the phone when she rang… and rang and rang and rang.

Anna had retreated so far into herself that eventually, her coworkers had found her during a hysterical breakdown at her little desk cubicle. After her higher-up had a word with her doctor, she was sent on sabbatical with a box of prescribed tranquilizers and a lovely present from her coworkers (that she admittedly cried over). And then Elsa had left and her sabbatical turned into a deep black hole of depression.   
And in a perverse sort of way, the only thing that got her out of that place was the call she got one night from her grandmother’s solicitor. 

It was a reason to leave London. The money she had saved for the wedding and the sabbatical pay would keep her comfortable for a while longer but it certainly would not last forever.

Anna felt the swellings of relief after a good cry but instead of calmness or a sense of hope, all that was left was an ache so dull it held no form. She placed the photo across the room on the dressing table where it could torment her self destructive inclinations with the illusion of distance, and went back down stairs to turn off the lights and the heater- and finally,  _ finally _ get some sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

With no foreign lights to invade the room, Anna found sleep quickly. London- and all that London implied- was far away. The bliss of dark, empty sleep was short-lived and nightmares taunted her dreams.

Anna couldn’t remember them all now that she was awake in bed, the sky outside the window still black with night, but certain parts of them had burned harsh images into her brain. There was Hans- that she was sure of. His false figure plagued her dreams by day and night in London and so the tradition should continue here. He was laughing. Bright and hearty and  _ at her _ . No matter what he did in her dreams- running from her, or remaining tantalisingly out of reach, or seducing other women right in front of her- Hans was always laughing. 

But that was not what bothered her as she stared up at the darkness where the shape of the ceiling was indiscernible. It was what he  _ became  _ that haunted her so.

Slowly, and violently, her beautiful, grinning Hans morphed before her dreaming eyes. His limbs twisted and tangled, his head stretching and climbing upwards, the whole warmness of his body turned ghost white. Until the shape of his mutation became recognisable. A great, bone-white tree towered over her with gnarly branches that reached out like the contorted fingers of a hand. The space around her and the tree turned to a grey sky littered with cold stars that canopied over a dead field with an expanse of trees on a hilled horizon. 

Suddenly, instead of seeing the tree from the ground by its raised roots, Anna was far away, looking over the landscape from the edge of the trees. And what scarred her the most of all, was what stood in her place under the hand-like tree. A creature from another world with the echoes of human features- sandy blonde hair, bright eyes and a broad chest. From it’s head sprang the jagged shape of two antlers and it’s legs were bent in the opposite direction to that of a human.

Anna had been drawn-  _ pushed _ \- to this figure in her dream but before she could make it to the creature- the grey sky was split with a crack of lightning and she was jolted awake. 

The image of the creature’s face struck alight by the lightning flashed to the front of her thoughts again and Anna flung an arm out from the protection of the quilt to turn the bedside light on. She didn’t dare tilt her head to look across the room at Hans’ photo, afraid of what the shadows of the real world might turn him into. Now, at least, Anna could focus on the sight of tangible things- the beams across the roof, the corners were ceiling met wall- in the warm light. 

Just as sleep started to creep back into her body, her ears caught the slightest sound from outside the window.

It was far away but undeniably audible.  _ An eerie chorus of baying dogs. _

  
  


It was eight o’clock in the morning when Anna got out of bed.

Spooky dogs howling in the distance aside, she did manage to get back to a weary sleep. There was a perfectly logical explanation to the sound, she had reasoned:  _ This is the country, dogs baying in the night is as common as a roosters crow at dawn _ . 

And as Anna was coming to understand, the country had a few idiosyncrasies. As for another one, she thought, there had to be something in the air that made her get out of bed as soon as she woke up.

Back home in London, there was the necessity of work as a reason to drag herself from the urge of staying under the covers all day. And, more recently, there were days when that urge became the norm. 

Anna dressed in haste, pulling on a knitted cardigan over a plain black long-sleeve and a pair of dark wash jeans. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she was stopped by that same disembodied breath of cold air that had disturbed her in the sitting room last night. But this time, it carried a scent. It was gone too soon but there was definitely a rosey musk to it.

Deciding against composing a logical reason, Anna turned on her heel and walked to the kitchen.

Switching on the electric heater first, she pulled open the curtains in the sitting room and the kitchen, ready to find out what kind of day she had to contend with. 

In the early light, she could finally make out the image of the back garden through the huge glass panes in the connected sunroom. Everything was overgrown, and to a harsher extent than it was in the front yard. At one time, there looked to have been a lain stone path that wound around the garden but it was all covered now with moss that took over the ground and grass that had grown to the height of some of the bushes. Anna thought she could even make out what looked like the pedestal of an old victorian bird bath among the jungle of dead shrubs. It was the kind that was solid marble and came in two pieces- and it would be worth a small fortune if she journeyed to dig it out of the overgrowth. 

Beyond the high garden walls, the landscape sloped up to surround the crook where Barton Tavey was nestled. Along the tops of the hills that cradled the valley ran edgings of lush trees- which must’ve been the origin of the wood pile that had been stacked inside by the door of the sunroom.

It was strange, though she had nothing but slights of childhood memories of this place and despite having felt little less than an alien in this town not a few hours ago, it felt weirdly normal for her to be there. Like even the house itself had fronted her at first with its foreboding creepiness and now that mask had slipped, allowing Anna to feel a part of it. 

She wondered at how many of the past inhabitants of this house- those that surely came before her grandmother- had looked out and up at this view and nodded their head with a gentle satisfaction for never wanting anything more than  _ this _ .

The kitchen was as old as the house, it seemed, with a cumbersome looking range and a heavy marble countertop set along a foundation of dark wood cupboards. Anna didn’t know much about kitchen appliances but the large enamel sink under the window looked similar to the farmhouse style- another thing to consider when selling the house.

The pantry, though large, was mostly empty save for a canister of plain flour, a box of instant gravy mix, a small box of teabags, and half a jar of instant coffee.

The tiny fridge under the counter was still switched on but was even emptier. Black coffee it had to be.

Anna was just flipping the switch on the electric kettle she found on the countertop when she heard the doorbell chime. Quickly, she crossed the length of the house and opened the front door to find Yelena waiting on the other side.

The older woman nodded in approval to seeing Anna up and dressed for the day, “I thought you might be up.” she smiled.

Anna smiled back with what she hoped was friendly courtesy. “Yes, I was just making some coffee if you’d like to join me for a cup.”

Yelena took a second to peek around at what she could see of the hallway- as if Anna could make any huge changes overnight. Then her bright eyes met Anna’s, “I’ll have a tea if it's all the same.”

“Of course,” Anna said, stepping aside to allow her to come in, “but I’m afraid I haven’t had any time to get some milk in or-”

“No, I guessed you’ve been in quite a flurry what with everything happening so quick. So I took it upon myself to get you some myself,” She revealed a shopping bag that was hidden behind her back, “and some bread and jam to get you started.”

Anna beamed warmly, “Thank You so much, Yelena. That’s so kind of you.”

Yelena stepped inside, watching Anna as she shut the door. “Well, what’s the point of being neighbours if you can’t be neighbourly.”

Once Anna had compensated Yelena for the goods and poured them both a steaming cup of tea- Anna had changed her mind on coffee- they sat themselves in the sitting room. 

Yelena seemed displeased at the electric heater working on the hearthstone. “You’d be better to get a fire going now that winter is on the way- those little electric things eat up so much power. Oaken brought down some logs about a month ago- Apple wood is the best for burning, especially if you’re unsure on how.”

Anna half-grinned from the rim of her cup. She didn’t bother to ask who Oaken was or where exactly the wood came from- with any luck Yelena and the Vicar would be the only locals she was introduced to before she inevitably left for back home. “I’ve never lit a fire before, it’s not something we really have in London.”

Yelena guessed as much. Then she was compelled to ask about Anna’s plans- whether she had any plans on updating certain appliances, namely, the obtrusive range that caught her eye from the kitchen.

“I haven’t thought much about it.” Anna admitted, “But I’ll probably leave it, if I can get it to work while I’m here.”

“You’re grandmother could never get rid of anything working or not, so forgive me, but it probably won't be good enough to work.” 

That interested Anna, and she sent a cursory glance around the room at the furnishings, “Do you think much of the furniture is old then?”

“Old?” Yelena said, amused, “Why I’d guess that most of it was old when she was born!” Then her brain sparked with memory. “I suppose you’d be the best judge being in the furniture business- but do you think any of it might be valuable?”

Anna hummed. While the various things she had spied that morning might be worth some amount, she hadn’t taken the time to really look at everything in the house. “I don’t know,” she told Yelena honestly, “you never can tell.”

Yelena followed her as she took the empty cups back to the kitchen.

“So how was your first night in the house?” Yelena asked.

Anna paused, wondering how much she could afford to share, “It was alright, once I got to sleep that is.”

“Nothing to disturb you then?”

What could Yelena be getting at? Anna frowned. “What sort of thing?”

A light chuckle escaped Yelena, “Oh well, you never know what superstitious notions someone believes in.”

Anna caught on quick, “None for me.” She allowed a genuine smile to crack through, “I’ve had enough to think about without worrying about ghosts too.”

“And well enough. If you ask me, people who believe in ghosts need their head to have a good looking at. But of course, these things make people uncomfortable so I can’t imagine that you-”

“Yelena,” Anna interrupted her unconsciously, “Yelena, there was one thing-”

“What was that?” Instantly, Yelena was all ears and her spiel was forgotten.

“I woke up in the night and I heard dogs… baying.”

Yelena’s tone dropped, “Dogs? In the middle of the night?” Her expression stayed clear. “You must’ve dreamt it, my dear.”

Anna shook her head, pressing, “I was wide awake. I thought- maybe they could be a pack of foxhounds?”

“The nearest pack is no closer than two miles away.” Anna almost thought she saw a flash of something scared in the woman’s eyes but Yelena looked away at the window, “Though, the wind was strong last night and the wind sure does have a way of carrying sounds- that must have been what happened.” Yelena seemed to be pleased with that solution and her tone closed the topic.

Anna murmured an agreement but she was no more convinced.

  
  


But soon enough, those uneasy thoughts were eclipsed with a shiny new discovery. After the dishes had been settled, Yelena made no hints that she had better things to do, so she encouraged Anna to look around at some of the old furniture.

Most of it was as she thought, late Victorian pieces that were in bad condition and not worth very much to any collector. But the rooms at the front of the house, the ones she had passed by quickly held a few wonderful surprises. In the room on the left that had a painted shut door that once would have led to the back dining room, she discovered four regency dining chairs pushed casually into a corner behind some boxes. There was also a grand mahogany bookcase that Anna guessed to have been dated to the early 1800s.

But in the room to the right of the main hall was the crowning gem: a small fall-front  _ escritoire _ pushed far into a dusty corner and hidden under an old table cloth. It was in such a terrible state that Anna didn’t recognize it for what it was. The wood was scratched and chipped and some owner had made a ham-fisted attempt at varnishing it, the fine, painted details had been filled with grime and discolored by the varnish but the beauty of it still managed to steal Anna’s breath. It was undeniably a genuine writing desk from the Queen Anne period.

Yelena looked between the desk and Anna, recognising the awe-struck look on her face and assuming the obvious. “Is it valuable?” she asked, overcome with curiosity.

While the varnishing was nothing short of a sacrilegious act, it was nothing a lot of renovation work couldn’t solve.

“Yes,” Anna all but breathed, “It’s valuable.”

Yelena moved to get a better look at it, “Well you’d never guess, would you! What with the state it's in I would have put it to firewood years ago- but you know what you’re talking about, being in the business.”

Anna cringed internally at the thought of such vandalism. She sighed, “The problem is that it needs a lot of professional work. I might have to have it sent to a renovator in London.” Her mind wandered through the contacts she had from her job- contacts she didn’t have written with her.

“Someone who puts antiques right, you mean?” Yelena clarified.

“Yes, why do you-”

Yelena cut her off with a proud grin, “In that case, I’d better give you the number of young Kristoff Bjorgman.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally kristoff comes up!  
> I've been dying to get to write him in so I hope you stick around to find out what goes on!  
> Thanks so much for reading xx


	4. Chapter 4

“Kristoff Bjorgman?”

“Yes, that’s right. Though, it would probably be better for you to drop in on him- it's always a bit of a gamble to get him on the phone- lives on the other side of the village in his own workshop. Does that sort of thing for a living.”

Anna couldn’t believe what she was hearing. An antique renovator here of all places- in little-old-nowhere. Of all the things that could make her drab respite more exciting. 

She was filled with the feeling of professional excitement. “Yelena, that’s wonderful! Exactly where can I find him?”

Yelena was similarly pleased that she was quickly making herself indispensable. And as Anna hurried to find a scrap of paper to write down an address, Yelena instructed her on the directions, “You take the right fork past the post office, and continue down the coast road. His is a little cottage along there. You can’t miss it, he’s kept the old sign out front- ‘ _ Moss Cottage _ ’ it was called.” 

Anna had finished scrawling down the directions but Yelena seemed intent to explain her thoughts on the place. “Used to be a pretty little place…” she said, staring out of the window, “But the lad’s turned it upside down, you can’t even tell house from workshop! Don’t ask where he does all his cooking or sleeping in that mess- but that’s men for you…”

And just when Anna thought she had done, the thankyou already on her tongue, Yelena added, “One of those places that could really use a woman’s touch.”

If it was an unsubtle dig, hinting on less than professional reasons Anna should visit this Kristoff- it cut no ice. Anger flared in her, red hot behind her eyes. But it dissipated quickly when the better of her mind reasoned that Yelena only spoke with good intention. She couldn’t possibly know anything of her recent, painful past.

“Thankyou, Yelena,” she told her gratefully, “I’ll certainly go talk to him.”

Anna saw Yelena out with mixed feelings.

There was no doubt that she was a good neighbor in the very traditional sense but she was already beginning to find her comfortable probing and curious gossiping to be a little overbearing. Regardless, the visit had been a blessing. It had filled what she predicted would be the most difficult time of day when she would be up and without purpose. But not only had Yelena given her some semblance of company, she had set in place a task that Anna could successfully pursue.

Anna pulled on a pair of boots and tugged on a light jacket, stuffing the note with the directions into her pocket. Even with Yelena’s thoughtfulness, she was in sore need of some necessary groceries- and while she was out, she could find this workshop.

  
  


There was a pleasant sharpness in the air, not at all like the chills she’d felt in London- but she thought to chalk it up to the professional intention that drove her steps down the steps and out the front gate. 

Anna decided to walk. Her car was trouble on small trips and with how small Barton Tavey was, it was much more sensible to walk her errands. There were a number of people about the highstreet. Of course, they were all strangers, but most of them nodded to her or offered her a friendly ‘Good morning’. She was aware of the speculation in their eyes as they regarded her. Anna was the town’s object of curiosity, and there was no doubt that- even without Yelena’s gossiping- they all knew who she was and what brought her here. Small villages always had the most proficient of grapevines.

Across the street, Anna spied the general store, bustling with a subdued kind of business and made the mental note of its location in her mind for later. Continuing past it, towards the direction where the top of the church spire rose above the general landscape, she came across a large village green. In it’s inviting heart, lay a pretty pond enclosed by a low fence. Most of the area of the green was cleared for village events of the cosy sort, and it had a path that wound whichever way it pleased.

She stopped for a moment to absorb some of its tranquility, smiling at the little family of ducks swimming in the water.

Opposite to the green was another row of buildings, this one all built with the same stones that made her grandmother’s house- no doubt, dated at the same period. The building that stuck out the most to her looked to be a pub. The sign swinging calmly in the breeze read ‘ _ Oak ‘n’ Ash’ _ . Given its location, Anna expected a pub to be named for something coast related or something a little more country-cosy; but ‘ _ Oak ‘n’ Ash’ _ seemed oddly out of place. With a shrug to her curiosity, she moved on, following the directions when she found the post office.

The coast road crested on a hill that overlooked the view of a beach far in the distance. Anna was overcome with the urge to take her car over there sometime for the simple pleasure of savouring the openness. It did unnerve her- all this wildness with unpredictable nature- but in a way, it was exactly what she told herself she needed.It was in every way the opposite to the life she knew in London. 

Around a sharp curve of road, she found what Yelena had described. A cottage set on one half of a block of land. It stood out against a backdrop of trees, arguably hard to miss even without the sign that only seemed to serve a nostalgic purpose.

The garden was messy and untended but quite pleasant, and she actually found herself smiling at the masses of wildflowers that sprang up from tangles of overgrowth. Anna could hear the faint noise of a radio somewhere inside. 

Sticking to the path that connected the road to the house, Anna made her way towards the front door, stopping only to pet the head of the old (and slightly tubby) bernese mountain dog that came to greet her. “ _ A welcome opposite already _ ,” she thought, “ _ Hans had always preferred cats _ …”

By the time she reached the door, the bernese had wandered off on some leisurely mission. There was no doorbell so with an encouraging breath, she lifted the knocker and rapped it against the door three times.

A few seconds later, the noise from the radio died abruptly and a crescendo of footsteps approached her.

The man who answered her knock was not what she expected at all. He wasn’t dressed for visitors, with smears of woodstain on his hands, forearms and even a spot of it smudged on the tip of his wide nose. His shirt was crumpled and untucked, rolled up to his elbows, and his jeans were old and worn- and yet, his appearance was something more than a pleasant surprise. Anna didn’t even know what she initially pictured this Kristoff to look like- but it was wholly unfitting of what confronted her. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with shaggy blonde hair and startling eyes that looked like little pools of honey. 

Despite her decided antipathy to men, Anna allowed that he was undeniably good looking.

He gave her a quick, brilliant smile, looking her over with only a glance. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, I--” Anna had to recollect herself for a second, as his appearance and manner had done quick to falter her stride. “I hope I’ve come to the right place- are you Kristoff Bjorgman?”

“That’s me. And you are…” He questioned.

Anna stuck out her hand, wanting her impressions to be nothing more than formal and business-like. “Anna Delle. I’m Mrs Thulldra’s granddaughter.”

Kristoff’s expression changed as he shook her hand, “Oh. Mrs Thulldra. I was sorry to hear about her death.”

“Thank you.” Anna looked away, retrieving her hand. She truly wished there was an easier way of introducing herself to people that didn’t immediately demand someone’s awkward condolences. “I’ve inherited her house- I’m staying there at the moment and I wanted to see you about this-”

He interrupted her as the thoughts struck him, “And here I am keeping you on the doorstep! Please come in, I can offer you a cup of tea if nothing else.” He stood aside and let her cross the threshold.

Anna stepped into a large, bright room. She thought back to Yelena’s condemning description of the place and saw that it was at least partially true. It was carelessly furnished, only a few basic pieces thrown together with no concern for appearances. It was messy, but strangely comfortably so. The woodchips and various scraps on the floor only added to that warm, workshop atmosphere. There was no amount of purposeless clutter anywhere, only boxes of tools and tins of paint and stain, brushes and an array of papers here and there. And in the middle of the room, standing on a spread of newspaper, was a large mahogany dining table. Anna instantly recognised it as a late Victorian piece.

“Sorry I forgot my manners there,” Kristoff said with a lopsided grin, “but I’m always a bit weary of strangers. ‘Round here they’re usually trying to sell something or convert me to some cranky religion.

Anna’s eyes raked slowly over the table, his words holding little weight in her focus. “That’s about 1880, isn’t it?” She asked.

Instantly, his face lit up. “Yes-You know about antique furniture?”

She nodded, stepping closer to it. “Yes. I was the buyer for a London store for a few years. That’s actually why I’m here.”

Anna told him about the pieces she had found: the chairs, the bookcase, and with emphasis, the  _ escritoire _ . 

He listened to her intently, and once she had finished by asking if he’d be interested in carrying out the restoration work, he beamed. “I’d love to! I had no idea there was a secret treasure trove here in Barton Tavey.”

“You didn’t know my grandmother?” She asked.

“Only to speak to in the street. Here, I’m a little off the centre of going ons, and I’ve always tended to be a bit of a solitary cuss. But look, I don’t mean to talk myself out of a job- but are you sure you wouldn’t rather one of your London contacts to do it?” He looked hesitant, Anna smiled.

“I actually don’t have any contacts that do renovation work, and anyways, by the looks of that table you’re more than capable enough for me.” The look of relief that washed over him amused Anna a little. As much as people like her had preconceived opinions on what country people were like, much was the same for the reverse. And as far as she was concerned in that moment, more people in the city could afford to be more like the few people she had met here.

Kristoff walked towards a door that led to a kitchen. “I’ll make some tea, then we can-”

“No.” She stopped him with the sharpness in her voice. No matter her opinions on this man, she knew for certain that she didn’t want to stay. Even with his amount of confidence and friendliness, Anna felt unable to cope, thinking of nothing more safe for her than the solitude of her house. “I’m afraid I can’t stay. I only wanted to meet you and ask you about the work but I’ve got a few other things to get to.”

“No problem, I understand.” Kristoff’s easy smile confirmed his words. “If it’s not too soon for you, I could pop around this afternoon to take a look at it?”

She had no reason to deny him that, “Sure. I’ll be there for the rest of the day.” She was moving back to the front door as she spoke. “Do you know the house?”

He crossed the room to open the door for her, “I know it.” Just as she crossed back over the threshold, another thought took him. “Oh, and just out of curiosity, who was it that recommended me? Could I make an educated guess and say Yelena Snow?”

Anna grinned, “You could. And you’d be right.”

He laughed. “Our local information centre! I’ll have to buy her a box of chocolates. But I’ll see you this afternoon, Anna.”

They exchanged their goodbyes and he watched her as she crossed back through the yard and turned into the lane. Anna only felt comfortable enough to let out a breath when  _ Moss Cottage  _ was out of sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They've finally met hooray!!  
> this chapter took a bit to write but I hope it was worth the little wait x I'll try to get the next chapter done and up soon.  
> Thanks so much for reading xx


	5. Chapter 5

The rest of the day went by relatively quickly. The task of shopping took longer than she anticipated with the cashier’s eagerness to get to know her- the shiny new face in town. Then she occupied herself with familiarizing herself with the house. How she truly felt about it was still uncertain but it was quickly becoming less of an asset and more as a home in the true sense of the word- her’s. Still, Anna wouldn’t let herself dwell on these feelings or what they meant; the important thing was that the house grounded her. And that was what she really needed.

Once Anna had finished putting away the groceries, she went upstairs and properly unpacked her suitcases. Now that the prospect of staying was proving to be somewhat indefinite, there was no excusing her disorganisation. The closet in the guest room was empty apart from a long dress coat in a dust cover and a clutter of mismatched hangers. When things had been set right and her empty suitcases had been tucked into a corner of the room, Anna ventured in search of the linen closet- a sheet draped over that creepy mirror on the stair landing seemed a better solution than getting crushed by it in an attempt to take it down.

By the time Anna made it back down stairs, the afternoon light outside had turned to the orange glow of dusk and was creeping through the room. The idea of a log fire seemed appealing, especially since Yelena had admonished the little electric fire, so she headed towards the back of the house and into the little sunroom. 

But as she bent to pick up a few of the stacked logs, Anna was overcome with the distinct feeling of being watched. Prickling with tension, she unlatched the door to the garden and stepped out onto the stone patio. The garden might have looked peaceful- even beautiful- in this dreamy light, but it was all tainted by the chill that crawled through her. She scanned the perimeter, along the walls (that she still assessed being too high to climb) and studied the mounds of overgrowth for any signs of a human-sized disturbance- but she found nothing.

The intrusive feeling was interrupted when there came a knock at the front door. The way it echoed through the house stirred a new wave of unease in her...  _ as did the anticipation of who waited for her on the other side of it _ . And so, telling herself it was just an illusion at her sanity’s expense, she went back inside to dump the logs in the fireplace and answer the front door. 

The cosy light of a young sunset only did to make him look all the warmer standing there on the doorstep. He smiled at her, “Hey! Sorry, I got here a bit later than I planned.”

“That’s ok. We didn’t make it for any certain time.” Anna stood aside to let him in and led the way back to the sitting room. “I was just about to get a fire going.” 

“No problem,” he shrugged, casting an interested glance around the place, “now’s the perfect weather for one.”

It wasn’t until Anna had grumbled at her fifth failed match that Kristoff awkwardly cleared his throat behind her. “If you uh- don’t mind me saying so, you’re going about it the wrong way.” 

Anna sighed a willing defeat.  _ At least he had given me the space to do it myself, _ she thought- that had to be some kind of good sign to his character. She gave him a rueful smile, standing to hand him the matchbox, “Want to save us the time?”

Kristoff grinned, bashful. He knelt down on the hearth, “These logs are a bit damp so they’ll need a bit more than a match to get them going. Without space for air between them…” His low voice faded out of her focus as she turned to cast a wary look out the sunroom windows. _I locked the door behind me_ , she could _see_ the turned latch but doubt still nagged at her, _nothing was out there. Nothing._ And yet still-- “Anna?” Reality snapped back into place. He was looking up at her expectant and… maybe a little concerned. “Is everything alright?” he asked.

She nodded fervently, “Yes, I’m sorry. I’ve been an easy target for distractions lately.”  _ It wasn’t even a lie. _ “What were you saying?”

He brushed off her embarrassment, “Do you have any newspapers?” Anna handed him an old one she found on the rack by the armchair. He thanked her and began to crumple up a few pages to strategically tuck them into the gaps he made between the logs. She watched him, trying to commit the method to memory and it didn’t take long for the match he held to the paper to catch, spreading to the logs.

“Thank you. I would have been here all night and day trying to do that.” 

“Anytime.” Kristoff stood up, dusting his hands for effect as the fire began to flicker. “Now, let's have a look at this furniture.” 

Anna led him back down the hallway to the front of the house, glad that the subject had quickly reverted back to the original business between them. Now out of the room with the fire burning happily, Anna realised how familiar it was. It was easily grounds for him to assume she was open to a friendship towards him- or at the very least, a close acquaintancy. And while she was loath for more sources of steadiness in this strange corner of the world, she was also starkly aware of just how vulnerable he made her feel (as much as any man would have at this point). The way he looked up at her minutes ago  _ alone _ made her defences spring into place. But who was she to say that he didn’t look at everyone like that? He was self-assured and friendly by what only seemed to be a default. 

Call it the instincts of an open wound but Anna could tell Kristoff was attracted to her. It wasn’t as if he seemed like the type to go out of his way to hide it, and truthfully, she couldn’t hold that against him. All he saw was a presumably unattached woman with no frightening baggage on display who also happened to share a passion for antique furniture with him. And maybe, had everything been different, she could accept those facts. But she only hoped that once she made her attitude towards him regarding all of those things clear, that he wouldn’t see it as one of those challenges to pursue her further. The last thing she wanted to do in Barton Tavey was worry about avoiding specific people along with the general community.

Anna switched on the light in the front room and let him go in ahead of her to take in the contents. He scanned the room fairly quickly until a sharp intake of breath let her know he had spotted the desk. It was like seeing her own reaction replayed right in front of her. Kristoff wasted no time in going over to it, running careful hands over the wood. 

Then he looked at her over his shoulder with all the visible excitement of a little boy discovering a stash of sweets. “This is incredible.”

Anna smiled. She cursed him for his transparency for it was growing on her fast. “You don’t think it's beyond fixing?” she asked.

“No! Not at all. It might be a challenge and some things I might have to do will make it less than one in prime condition, but-  _ it's incredible. _ ” The gears were already turning away in his mind. Like a true craftsman, he had begun the work in his head.

She didn’t bother to linger too long on the other items she had told him about. Much like the  _ escritoire  _ had done to her, it made quick work of stealing all of Kristoff’s thoughts. “Come on,” she told him, flipping off the light, “I’ll make you some tea if you like.” 

Considering all the thinking Anna had labored over concerning the relationship she insisted on between them, it was a silly step back to take. Then again, to refuse herself any friendliness was arguably more silly.  _ I’m going to drive myself further near insanity thinking like this _ , she thought. Playing  _ both _ the roles of reasonable and breezy sister was both tiresom and tolling (and dangerous to stew over for too long).

Over tea, Kristoff explained exactly what he was planning to do with the desk and Anna listened, fascinated. She knew vaguely of the trade and what kinds of things happened in the workshop- but to hear it from Kristoff, with unfiltered passion laden in his voice, was like being thrown into a well of knowledge. Anna almost wanted to ask him if she could watch him at work for some of it- but the implications of such a suggestion were risky and she bristled at the thought of giving him the wrong idea.

It was only when Kristoff casually asked her how long she meant to stay did the smoothness of the conversation break. Anna tensed from where she sat across from him at the table in the kitchen, the tea steaming between them. In a second he had thrown her from the comfort of a half hour of domestic chat and into the harshness of reality.

She shrugged, “I don’t really know, I haven’t made any concrete plans yet.”

He nodded, taking a sip from the mug he nursed. “I suppose you have plenty of reasons to want to get back to London.” He was probing, just like Yelena had only less insistent. She resented it heavily but with no fair justification.

“Well- not right now. I left the job I had back there, it was getting a bit stale.”  _ There was no real reason to lie _ , she knew. But her irrationality was enjoying its heightened standard and it suggested that Kristoff might have his suspicions as to the real details of her present situation. “I hadn’t decided on anything yet but I thought as long as I can afford it for a little while, I might as well take a sabbatical… It just so happened to happen at the same time as…” she awkwardly gestured around her, “all this.”

“I must seem strange.”

Anna finished off the last drops of tea with raised eyebrows. “Strange?”

“ _ All this _ \- Barton Tavey. After London.”

“Oh. I suppose so.”

Kristoff rested his arms on the table. “It was the other way for me. When I came back after 5 years of trying the city life.”

“So you’re a local then?” Anna hadn’t really put too much thought into it, his accent was only slightly country. 

He gave her a sad smile, “I was raised in an orphanage a ways south of here. Then, when I was old enough, I made what I thought would be one of those life-changing decisions to go to London with nothing in my pockets- you know, like in the movies. But after five miserable years I came back here. It worked out better for me though, the bucolic life and all.”

Anna didn’t really know what to say. Social graces were hard to gauge. “I’m sorry you were put through all that.”

“Don’t be,” he shrugged, “It's only a part of my story now.” his smile finally reached his eyes.

Anna stood to collect their mugs. “And now you restore old furniture.”

“Now I restore old furniture.”

She left him at the table to rinse out the mugs in the sink. With a glance upwards she saw that the once golden sky had turned murky with twilight. Anna ventured a question, “Was- _ is _ it hard here without family?”

She didn’t even try to be coy with that one. If Kristoff had allowed her a window to his backstory, it surely earned him some amount of transparency. 

“I’m no golden standard for building networks, but there are some around her I’d consider as ‘found family’. Although I don’t have any reference to life  _ with _ a family either so…” And that was that. Anna had been preparing to fully adjust to her sister’s absence but it all seemed so final now no matter where she decided to stay.

She nodded solemnly. It was plain from the expression on his face that he didn’t know what to make of her reaction. Maybe her default was unreadable emotion. 

The silence that followed grew more uncomfortable by the half-second, Anna found herself wanting nothing more than this young man with his soothing eyes and calming voice to leave.

So she decided to break it with business. “How long do you think the  _ escritoire _ will take?”

Kristoff was no fool, he knew she was elbowing him out. “Well,” he said, “I’ve got a good amount of work at the moment to keep me busy so… say a few weeks?”

_ A few weeks. Nothing seemed to be specifically set in Anna’s life anymore. _ “Sounds fine.” she told him with a nod.

Kristoff took the hint. He got up from the table, pushing his chair back into place. “I’ll leave you to peace, then. I can come around midday tomorrow to pick up the desk if that works for you?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Well, thanks for the tea.” He followed her swiftly back to the front door, lingering only a second to steal another look at the desk in the corner. “We can take it one at a time with the other pieces you mentioned.”

Anna agreed. She was sure that the pieces she did find were only surface treasures. All the dusty boxes in the front rooms begged her to go through them- and she told herself to remember to exhume the bird bath in the backyard. 

Kristoff wasn’t persistent on hovering and she couldn’t be more thankful. “All right,” he smiled brightly, “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”   
She opened the door for him. “Bye, Kristoff.” And once he was halfway across the yard she called out a rather hurried-sounding “Drive safe!” without even thinking.

He waved back, climbed into his truck and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so much for updating quickly huh!  
> I've been pretty occupied with the last stretch of uni and exams are around the corner so it might be another little while between chapters so I hope that's ok! I very much mean to get updates out quicker once school is all wrapped up though so thank you for sticking around this far!!  
> Thanks for reading xx


	6. Chapter 6

Anna had to lean back on the door for a moment to release the tension after he left. 

This was ridiculous. Small talk felt like a marathon with the way it left her breathless and trembling. And now, after only her second meeting with Kristoff, Anna realised how utterly ill-equipped she was at choreographing an ordinary social life. It truly shed an ugly, bright light on how badly she was processing the last few months of her life. 

What her doctor had assured her was just a ‘mental hiatus’ was quickly turning out to be the enclosing walls of a self-made shell. A problem worsened impossibly further by her lack of motivation to change it. To go back to London was to rip open weeping wounds and her shell offered safety. Rather- a place to hide.

Self-diagnosing was out of the question but whatever was plaguing her wasn’t at all benign. It had turned even the most superficial of interactions into intolerable strain. 

Once she had deemed her legs strong enough to hold again, Anna wandered back into the living room to sigh at the dying fire. Fresh memories of how Kristoff looked kneeling on her hearth were forced from her mind as she tasked herself with bringing in a few more logs. Anna surrendered herself to the itch to check the back door in passing (again), telling herself it was the absolute last time. Maybe tomorrow Anna could brave the garden and start taking out some pent up adrenaline on the overgrowth of weeds. She might even find some more treasures like the birdbath- and if it did to eliminate even a little of her doubt it would be worth the effort enough.

Anna jammed a few more newspaper sheets in the fire nowhere near as strategically as Kristoff and dumped a fresh log on top of the dwindling fire. There was something satisfying in watching the flames take to the new kindling, it was strangely calming. She ended up shifting to a proper sitting position on the floor in front of the fireplace to simply let her mind wander. Her eyes were drying and truth be, it was a little hard to bear- but Anna had found herself entranced by the flickering, shifting brightness of the dancing flames.

_Hans_ had been an image of shifting brightness. In her poisonous fantasies, he would be blocking the doorway behind her now, illuminated perfectly by the intense, warm light. And he would come over to her, shake her by the shoulders and frown at her tears. _Tears?_ _Crying had never been a part of any of her indulging daydreams before_ \-- but then he would hug her and _ah yes_ , then she’d be relieved and happy. 

Anna couldn’t be sure if she was crying now, the tears she imagined on her cheeks were dried by the heat of the fire as soon as they were spilled. 

The doctor said she wasn’t in any danger of a major breakdown. She was young and resilient; young and resilient women don’t breakdown, they survive. That was Elsa: Ambitious and persistent, strong. 

Whatever London had done to her older sister was nothing that kept her in fearful submission- if Elsa broke she flew. And like a little abandoned fledgling, Anna had fallen out of the nest. 

Anna wasn’t about to hold her sister’s demons against her or force her through them, but it was undeniably a source of Anna’s instability. Maybe if Elsa had stayed around a small while longer, come to Barton Tavey to sort out her grandmother’s estate before chasing freedom, Anna might be looking at the future with bright eyes. 

The doctor told her she wasn’t in any real danger of a breakdown; that she was a young and resilient woman. Young and resilient women didn’t breakdown-  _ Elsa _ didn’t breakdown. And yet everything had turned out like some cruel reminder that Anna was nothing like Elsa. When Anna ‘flew away’ she still fell. 

Maybe if Kristoff hadn’t shown up and wedged himself into her agenda it would be easier. Of course, she was aware that had everything been different she might accept whatever was stirring between them- heck, she might’ve even acted on it. But looking at him reminded her of Hans. Not that they were in any way similar, but they were men all the same. And right now trusting a man seemed a feat beyond impossible. 

Once the fire was crackling happily again she got up, only to be stopped. That feeling she got at the backdoor had come back to knock her off her feet. Now it felt as if the entire house was watching her, the gently pulsating shadows cast across the walls morphed into something out of a dream. And then there was the  _ smell _ . Anna had smelt it before, she was sure, but now it was like she was swimming in it; saturated from head to toe with the heavy, sweet scent of roses.

The house seemed to slip past the hold of time and she was a fly trapped in amber. A single unchanging moment captured perfectly for eternity. Fear was now the feeling just out of reach. The shadows reached out to her with welcoming arms.

And then like a splash of ice water to the face, the moment was broken. Anna resurfaced and was now swaying and gasping as if the whole thing had been a headrush. The fire was just fire, the shadows were unimposing, amorphic shapes, and the smell of roses was gone. And with it had gone the magic wash of momentary serenity.

This time the tears were real. But she resigned herself strong enough to stand if nothing more. And eventually the swaying stopped and the tears on her cheek dried, and she looked around, half-hoping for another shift. But nothing had changed.

Rationality bubbled up again and with it a slew of concerning questions.  _ What had happened? It was far too real- far too tangible to have just been imagination. No, whatever it was- happened. _ If it wasn’t internal could it have been reality?

_ Now _ she was afraid. Less of the experience but of the implications. She’d smelt roses before in the house, tonight making for twice- but smells were not innocuous. At least, they wouldn’t be alone. But now she thought of the mirror on the stair landing. The howling dogs she’d heard in the middle of the night. The feeling from the backyard. This was becoming serious- no, more than serious; this was dangerous. 

The wind outside was rising again, Anna could hear it rustle in the trees and rattle the windows. She needed something to ground her else she might lose another hour and, by extension, a night to circles of ill thoughts. So she drew the curtains and switched on the table lamp to disturb the fire’s shadows.  _ A good start, _ she thought. Busying herself with something practical seemed like a good idea and the sight of stacked boxes everywhere she looked was growing tiresome. 

Loath to leave the warmth of the fire, Anna went back to the front room where she had discovered the bookcase and the chairs. There were still a fair amount of large pieces and furniture that wanted looking through but she really wanted something easy- almost mindless to level out her evening. So she picked a box, fairly large with no lid, and maneuvered it back to the sitting room. Just the task of dragging it across the rug and sitting down next to it in front of the fire was already starting to make her feel a little brighter.

The top layer of items were coated in a thick sheet of dust that she had to brush off;

those were the ones she established ‘piles’ with. Anna sorted them into things of possible value, those she simply liked the appearance of, and those that were absolutely hideous. Most of what came out of the box was of the nick-nack variety: porcelain figures, candle holders, vases. The first thing she uncovered from the top layer of things was what looked to be a perfume bottle. It was a slender vial with a swirling red enamel design inlaid in the body of the glass. The equally fancy stopper was in pristine condition- it was a beautiful little object. Anna didn’t know much about antique bottles, but she guessed it was possibly early Victorian and maybe even French. Excited and curious, she gently pulled off the stopper and held it under her nose.

Anna almost dropped the bottle.  _ Roses _ . It was the exact same scent that was beginning to haunt her. A second episode was out of the question, she pushed the stopper back in almost forcefully and let it drop back into the box.

This was beyond coincidence- things like this just didn’t fall into place. Suddenly, she lost the interest in the rest of the box. Rather haphazardly, Anna shoveled all piles back into the box, and, as she had no fancy for dragging it back to the front room, she pushed it under a table in the corner of the room where it would be unobtrusive and out of her sight. It- like many other things- would have to do for the time being.

The evening was soured by the box and, frankly, beyond trying to turn. Anna was tired and even the prospect of keeping herself up longer was out of the question. A bath, she decided, was not. 

It was a high possibility that she might fall asleep in the tub but it won out over the thought of making dinner and forcing herself to eat it. Slowly, Anna made her way upstairs.

She almost had half the mind to light a few candles to set a relaxing mood but ultimately thought better of it- the last thing she needed was more fire-cast shadows. But the quiet sound of rippling water and wind on the windows outside was enough to draw a deep and long breath from her as she slipped into the comfort of the water.

It was something about the air out here, she thought to herself. In London, she’d be up for hours longer, sometimes even until early morning, but here and now she felt healthily tired. And yet there was less out here to make her tired beyond her day-by-day anxious episode. 

Soon enough, Anna was out of the bath and trugging downstairs to make sure the fire was properly out before she submitted herself to the bedroom. And by the time she had changed and crawled under the covers, she fell asleep.

Sleep was easy enough. But the nightmares didn’t leave her to rest for long. It was the same dream as before with the great tangled tree and streaks of lightning flashing through the starry sky. Though, this time, there was no horned figure under the tree. Far off in the distance there was that chorus of baying dogs. But they grew louder quickly. Anna turned to run, however the cruel dream wouldn’t let her move. It sounded as if a whole pack of dogs were almost upon her, growling and howling, when she woke up with a violent lurch to her stomach.

Anna sat up and tried to shake the memory of the sound from her head. She was wide away now… but she could still hear them. Far away and distorted on the wind but ringing still like the toll of a heavy bell.  _ Yelena had insisted it  _ couldn’t _ have been anything other than a pack of foxhounds _ , Anna told herself over the rise of her heart rate. Switching on the bedside lamp did little to shoo away the noises but she knew that they might not leave until the first light. And though she felt better awake and in the light, Anna knew that she couldn’t keep having nights like this. 

This time when Anna wriggled under the covers it was with the light on and with the prospect of paying a call to this Major that Yelena had told her of. Only then might she hope to put a final end to at least one of her mysteries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this chapter's a bit all over the place, it was a weird one to write but anywayssssss  
> thanks for reading !!

**Author's Note:**

> I probably shouldn't be starting a n o t h e r fic when I have so many wips- BUT this is based on an existing work so the plot is there for me so sureelyy I can justify this by finishing it  
> I am still working on ATOIAB behind the scenes and a few other chunky stories so to fulfil that posting urge in me, this is what I offer to you beautiful people!
> 
> let me know what you think, and thankyou for reading!!


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